


to hold in the night (we all want something)

by SiderumInCaelo



Series: (your heart is) the only place that i call home [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiderumInCaelo/pseuds/SiderumInCaelo
Summary: Credence survives, and is taken in by Newt.  The first night he's with him, he wets the bed and panics, but Newt is there to comfort him.





	

It didn’t happen all the time.

It had been a near nightly occurrence when he was younger. Ma – no, not Ma, he reminded himself sharply, _Mary Lou_ – had beaten him every time it happened, and made him wash the sheets and remake the bed, but at least she’d put down a plastic sheet so he wouldn’t stain the mattress too badly.

He was about eight, he thought (it was difficult to be sure when Mary Lou didn’t acknowledge birthdays), when he gradually started waking up to dry sheets more and more often. It was a slow process, though. He’d been fourteen before he went a whole month without disgracing himself, as Mary Lou called it. And even then, it didn’t stop altogether – he still wet the bed if he drank too much water the night before to try to stop the hunger pangs or had worse nightmares than usual, or sometimes just on random nights, for no discernible reason. 

It had suddenly gotten worse, though, this past month. He’d actually been glad of the strange attacks, at the time – they had distracted Ma- no, _Mary Lou_ – from punishing him as badly as she might have otherwise.

The irony.

Credence dragged his thoughts away from his life at the church. It didn’t matter anymore. He was with Newt Scamander now – in his suitcase, actually. Mr. Scamander had said it was the best place for him, at least until they had left America and MACUSA couldn’t change their mind about arresting one or both of them. So they were both in the suitcase, which was in the Goldstein’s apartment, waiting to catch a ship to England the next day.

But Credence wasn’t thinking about their future plans. He was in the bedroom Mr. Scamander had hastily conjured for him, looking warily at the bed and trying to focus on the fact that even if his bed-wetting had gotten worse recently, it still wasn’t every night.

He had considered, earlier, when Mr. Scamander had showed him his room, telling the man about his problem (surely that would be better than having to explain wet sheets in the morning?), but shame and fear had clogged his throat and in the end he hadn’t said anything, and now Credence was trying to figure out what to do. Stay up the whole night? But he was exhausted, and doubted he’d make it more than a couple hours before he drifted off anyway. Maybe it would be all right if he slept? He could go to the bathroom right before bed, and he hadn’t had too much to drink at dinner, he didn’t think, and maybe he wouldn’t have nightmares away from the church. Besides, what other choice did he have? Go find Mr. Scamander now, and tell him something that, somehow, felt even more shameful than having some terrible creature inside him?

So Credence changed into the pajamas Mr. Scamander had left for him, brushed his teeth, made sure he’d gotten every last drop out of his bladder, and fell into bed, where exhaustion quickly carried him off.

* * *

Credence woke up, heart pounding, gasping for breath, so disoriented from the panic of his dream that at first he didn’t know where he was. Awareness came back in pieces – he was in his bed, in Mr. Scamander’s suitcase – Mary Lou wasn’t here anymore – it had just been a nightmare – his throat felt scratchy, had he screamed in his sleep? – his legs and lower back felt wet –

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stave off the panic he felt rising again. He’d wet the bed; the bed Mr. Scamander had _made_ for him, he was sure to find out in the morning –

A knock at the door broke his train of thought, and he heard Mr. Scamander ask, sounding worried, “Are you alright Credence? I heard shouting.”

“I’m fine!” Credence called back quickly, his eyes flying open, desperate to prevent Mr. Scamander from opening the door and seeing him like this, but he couldn’t keep the tremble out of his voice, and even he knew he sounded anything but fine.

“Are you sure? You sound –” There was a pause, and then he asked, more quietly, “May I come in, please?”

“No! I mean, I’m fine, really, must have just been talking in my sleep, everything’s fine, you can go back to bed.” Credence knew he was rambling, knew his voice sounded shakier than ever, but he couldn’t focus enough to think of any other options.

“Credence, it’s all right. I’m not mad, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” His voice sounded gentle, gentler than anyone who had ever spoken to Credence. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Credence felt the tears that had been building spill over, and heard a sob escape him. He brought a hand to his mouth to try to muffle the sound, but he couldn’t make himself stop, even though he knew Mr. Scamander could hear him.

“Please, may I come in?” he heard the man ask again.

Credence found he didn’t have the energy to do anything but choke out a “Yeah.” He stared at the floor, but saw the door slowly open and Mr. Scamander enter in his peripheral vision.

Mr. Scamander didn’t say anything for a moment, and Credence knew he was taking in the sight of his soiled bed sheets. He kept his head ducked, waiting to find out how he’d be punished. Maybe he’d be lucky and Mr. Scamander would just yell at him.

“You wet the bed? Is that why you’re upset?” Mr. Scamander asked, and Credence nodded. He didn’t sound angry, but then Mary Lou often didn’t before she whipped him, either.

“That’s easily fixed. I’m going to pull out my wand, but just to clean the sheets, all right? I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Credence nodded at that, too, when it seemed like Mr. Scamander was waiting for a response, and felt his sheets and pajamas turn dry. The lingering scent of urine disappeared too, but Credence still kept his eyes locked on the floor. Mr. Scamander had said twice now that he wouldn’t hurt him, but he had to be punished, didn’t he?

“Credence? Can you look at me?” Credence lifted his head and met Mr. Scamander’s eyes, but could only hold his gaze for an instant before dropping his head. “Credence, you’re not in trouble. I won’t hurt you, or punish you at all. It was an accident, and an easily fixable one at that, yeah?”

Not punish him? He must be lying. But Credence looked up at his face again, and Mr. Scamander looked painfully earnest.

“Can – can I sit down? I’ll go if you want me to leave, but I think we should talk, if you’re okay with that.”

Maybe he wanted Credence to apologize. Mary Lou usually did, and sometimes, if Credence apologized profusely enough and she was in a good mood, it would even get him out of being beaten. Credence nodded again, and Mr. Scamander sat down next to him on the bed.

Credence figured he should hurry up and start apologizing. “Sor-” he started, but his voice cracked on the word, his throat apparently still too tight from trying not to cry. He swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and tried again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Scamander. I should have told you this might happen before I went to bed, or drank less water, or stayed up all night, or –” Credence broke off, his throat tightening again.

Mr. Scamander was silent for a few seconds, like he was choosing his words carefully. “This isn’t something you need to apologize for. It might be embarrassing, but it’s not – it’s not _bad_ , okay? I’d like for you to tell me when something’s bothering you so I can help, but I understand why you didn’t want to tell me about this.”

The kindness in his words was too much for Credence and he started crying again, in earnest this time. He felt Mr. Scamander shift a bit next to him and then stop, asking, “Can – is it alright if I touch you, Credence?”

He said, “ _Please_ ,” before he could think about it, and he’d be embarrassed about how desperate he sounded, but Mr. Scamander put his arms around him, and Credence couldn’t focus on anything else. One hand was at the base of his neck, guiding his head to lean on Mr. Scamander’s shoulder, and the other was gently stroking his back. 

No one had ever touched Credence like this. Mary Lou had generally discouraged physical contact, and had only occasionally done so much as to pat his shoulder. Mr. Graves (although Mr. Scamander had told him that he was actually a man named Grindlewald pretending to be Mr. Graves) had done more, had held his hands while he healed them, but it was still brief, and even then Credence had suspected it was more about pacifying him than a demonstration of actual care.

This was different. This didn’t feel like it’s part of an unspoken bargain, conditional on his good behavior, or only given begrudgingly. There was no hesitancy in the way Mr. Scamander was holding him. He seemed willing to stay like this as long as Credence wanted.

So Credence gave in and didn’t try to hold back his tears. He tucked his head into the crook of Mr. Scamander’s neck, almost nuzzling it, and brought his arms up around Mr. Scamander’s torso. Mr. Scamander kept rubbing his back, and murmured soothingly in his ear, and Credence relaxed into the embrace, as much as he could while still crying.

Credence lost track of time, but eventually his sobs turned into sniffles, and then even those trailed off. He stayed curled up against Mr. Scamander, loathe to relinquish the contact, but eventually his exhaustion caught up and a yawn escaped him, and he pulled away.

“You should get some more rest; it’s ages till morning. Do you think you’ll be able to fall back to sleep?” Mr. Scamander asked. Truthfully, Credence was ready to nod off right then and there, but . . .

“What . . . what if I . . .” He trailed off, reluctant to finish his sentence, but Mr. Scamander must have known what he was getting at anyway.

“What if you wet the bed again? Then we’ll clean it up again, that’s all. It’s not a problem, really,” he said, putting his hand back on Credence’s shoulder. He paused, and they sat quietly for a moment.   “Come on, back to sleep,” he said.

Credence lay back down, and was about to pull the blankets back over him, but Mr. Scamander beat him to it. He pulled them up to Credence’s shoulders, smoothing them out as he did so, effectively tucking Credence in. It was a little odd – Mary Lou had certainly never tucked him in – but Credence thought he liked it.

“Just come find me if you need anything, alright? I’ll be around,” he told Credence while straightening up.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander.”

“It’s Newt, please. Sleep well, Credence,” he replied, opening the door to leave.

Credence was already nodding off, but he mumbled out a, “Good night,” in return as Mr. Scamander – Newt (that would take some getting used to) – closed the door behind him. A few moments later, Credence was fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> turns out if you want embarrassingly self-indulgent fic you have to write it yourself.
> 
> the title is taken from Florence + The Machine's "Hardest of Hearts."
> 
> i don't have any plans to continue this, but if you've got an idea let me know! maybe the muse will bite.


End file.
